Under the Sheet by Alana Kabaka ’21

     She was so pretty––her hair danced across her shoulders, and it looked like waves in the ocean. Her legs seemed to go on for miles. When she walked her steps covered the distance between us. I loved the way she talked her mind; the way she could say words so beautifully and make stupid words mean everything. I held on to her words like they were my last breath, and I cherished them so much. Her lips were paper thin. Freckles covered her face so beautifully––the spots on her face just stood out under her cheeks, her forehead, and nose; she didn’t even need makeup, not at all. Her eyes: light green, the eyes of a dreamer, the eyes of someone I could love, the eyes of my sister.

     My mother never loved her and I would ask my mother why and she would tell me to shut up. And I would cry; I would cover my face with sheets and cry because you don’t tell your baby shut up, but she did. It made me cry rivers. My father loved my sister, but he didn’t love me, so he told me I didn’t matter. And he sent me to my room. And yes, I would cry, covering myself with the sheets.

     When my sister told me she thought she was ugly, it would hurt because she was pretty –– I wanted to tell her over and over ‘till she believed it –– it would make my stomach hurt and make my fingers curl. I wanted to cover myself with the sheets, but I couldn’t –– I just couldn’t –– my sister sat on my bed, and I was her hero, her role model.  I couldn’t let her see me cry; then she would cry, she would hide under the sheets and cry, and when she starts, she can’t stop. My mother would yell at her. My father would comfort her. My brother would carry her and make sure she was ok.

     All I wanted to do is hide under the sheets.